


Mine

by TiyeTiye



Series: Things That Go Bump In The Night [9]
Category: The Last Kingdom (TV), Vikings - Fandom
Genre: Demons, Exorcism, Monsters, Mythology - Freeform, Possession, Sucubus, Supernatural - Freeform, Vikings, nsfw-ish, things that go bump in the night - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 16:56:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15610773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiyeTiye/pseuds/TiyeTiye
Summary: When their brother Ubbe is enslaved by a creature they are powerless to fight, Ivar and Hvitserk must rely on an enemy's help in order to save him.





	Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: blood, gore, violence, violence against women, NSFW situations, just a little bit of peril

———————————————————————————————————————————

The old woman didn’t have much time. That was alright. She didn’t need it. 

The words fell from her lips without hesitation, the runes she scratched on the dirt floor of her cottage were crisp and precise, the circle binding them all perfectly round. 

She’d known the ritual since she was a little girl, had learned it from her mother, who had learned it from her mother, back and back through the centuries, ever since the first time their island home had been invaded. Back then they had been driven from their homes by men in red cloaks coming out of the south, driven by the orders of their God-Emperor. This time their enemy had come out of the north, their swords and axes carried by the sons of a man called Ragnar. 

She could hear the commotion outside, where what was left of her family was preparing to flee. Her sons had already been conscripted, taken by the new king to try and stem the tide of Northmen flooding through their country, and while there was no way she could ever pick up a sword to fight beside them, this….this she could do. 

She was almost finished. A sharp stone knife, a slash across her arm, a sprinkling of blood on the floor, and there it was. It blinked into existence within the boundary of the circle, a tall, silent shape made of shadow and flame, staring at her with eyes like coals. It was an ancient thing, the power practically dripping off of it, only barely contained by the circle. As the woman looked up at it, it reached out what might have been a hand, testing her boundary, but flinched and drew back at a flash of light when the circle held. 

The woman pushed herself to her feet, forced her bent back to straighten and made herself look the thing in the eye. 

“We are invaded,” she said. “From the north. An army of heathens, led by the sons of Ragnar.” 

“Find them, and destroy them.” 

———————————————————————————————————————————

The last of the Saxons died easily, hardly making a sound as Ubbe’s sword took him in the throat. 

They’d been holed up in Ecbert’s villa in Wessex for a few weeks now, sending out hunting parties and raiding the countryside when their supplies grew low, and this was the third scouting party they’d run across in as many weeks. Ecbert’s son, the new king, might have fled, but it seemed the local earls were made of sterner stuff and weren’t afraid to test the Great Army’s mettle. 

As the man bled out as his feet, Ubbe let himself smile. It was almost too easy. His raiding party was large, the small village they’d hit earlier that day had been poorly defended, and this band of Saxons they’d come across had been running scared long before Ubbe’s warriors had caught them at the edge of a wood and cut them to pieces. He hadn’t lost any men, and while several of his warriors had been wounded, he was fairly certain they would all live to fight another day. 

Ubbe smiled again, still catching his breath after the frenzy of the battle. It was good to be out. It was good to be away from Ivar and his dark moods, to get away from those gloomy gray walls, to step out of the shadow of the hill where they’d buried Sigurd. It was good to feel _alive_ again. 

“Ubbe!” Hvitserk called from somewhere within the woods behind him. “Ubbe!” 

“Here!” Ubbe shouted into the towering wall of green. A moment later, his little brother appeared, sword out and hacking his way through the low-hanging boughs of an ancient fir tree. Hvitserk was scowling and picking bits of twig out of his hair as he joined Ubbe on the road, followed by a handful of other warriors. 

“Well?” Ubbe asked, not bothering to hide his smirk. “Did you find them? The ‘Saxon warriors circling around to trap us’? Or was it just a herd of deer like I told you?” 

“Shut up Ubbe,” Hvitserk said, sheathing his sword.

“Was it a maybe _particularly dangerous_ flock of birds?” 

“I said shut up Ubbe!”

Ubbe brightened. “Or maybe it was a bunch of trolls, like in the stories that mother used to tell us!” 

“Yeah, maybe it was Ubbe! And maybe I made a deal with them, and maybe they’re on their way here right now to chew your fucking legs off!” He aimed an angry punch at his older brother, but Ubbe easily dodged it, grabbing Hvitserk’s arm and pushing it to the side, smoothly coming to rest with his arm over his little brother’s shoulders. 

“Oh come on little brother!” Ubbe said, mussing his hair. “You know I’m only joking.” 

Hvitserk shoved him away and looked around at the dead and dying Saxon warriors their men had left scattered up and down the road. “At least you got to have some fun.” 

Ubbe clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, Hvitserk, there will be plenty more opportunities for the both of us. But for now, we should get back. It will be dark soon.” 

“Fine.” Hvitserk growled, shrugging Ubbe’s arm off. “Pack up! Let’s move!” he called out to their warriors. One by one, the Northmen finished stripping the dead and bandaging up wounds, forming a loose clump behind the two brothers. 

Ubbe didn’t personally know everyone in this group - surrounding them were warriors not just from Kattegat but from all different corners of their world. One of the strangers, a shield maiden with dark auburn hair caught his eye, and the sight of her made Ubbe curse their need to swiftly return to Ecbert’s villa and the safety of its walls. The woman must have felt him staring, because she glanced up and smiled at him, a flash of bright teeth in the gathering dusk. She may have even winked as Ubbe turned to begin the long march home. 

Oh yes, Ubbe would be sure to seek her out again. 

———————————————————————————————————————————

It turned out that the shield maiden’s name was Solvi, and she was easy to find that night. 

And the night after that. 

And the night after that. 

Soon, she and Ubbe were all but inseparable. Night after night as the Great Army moved north toward York Solvi shared his food and his fire, and if Ubbe emerged each morning dazed, with a fresh set of bloody scratches down his back, well only his brothers seemed to notice him wincing in pain, and he had moved beyond caring about their opinions. 

Solvi soon became everything he needed. Ubbe hardly ever saw his brothers anymore - why deal with Ivar’s insolent moods and Hvitserk’s stubbornness if he could be with her instead? And if he started missing war councils, or stopped going out on raids as they traveled north, what did it matter? Let other men deal with the Great Army’s problems for once. After a week or two, Ubbe was hardly eating and only sleeping a handful of hours every night. His only hunger was for her, and when he _was_ able to sleep his dreams were haunted by a creature of shadow and fire with strange, sharp teeth.

But it was alright - nothing to worry about. 

Everything was fine. 

———————————————————————————————————————————

“I do not like Ivar.” 

“No one really likes Ivar.” 

Solvi smacked Ubbe’s chest with the hand she’d been using to trace patterns across his naked skin. “That is not what I mean. Ivar looks at me differently than he does other people.”

“Maybe he wants you and is jealous that you’re mine.” 

Solvi’s shook her head. “He doesn’t look at me like he wants me, he looks at me like he hates me, like he wants to hurt me.”

Ubbe caught her hand in his. “Has he threatened you? Has he said anything to you?” 

Solvi frowned. “Not yet. But I am afraid.”

“Of Ivar?” 

“Yes of Ivar! He killed your brother Ubbe! We all saw him do it! What’s to stop him from coming after us?” Solvi pulled out of Ubbe’s arms and sat up, wrapping her arms around her knees. 

“Come now, don’t worry,” Ubbe said, sitting up and pulling her close to his side. “I won’t let him harm you. I’ll protect you from him.”

Solvi sniffed and wiped her hand down her face, finally turning to look at him. “Do you promise?” 

“I promise.” 

“Promise me that you’ll never leave me,” Solvi said, throwing a leg over Ubbe’s, straddling his hips, and taking his face in her hands. “Swear to me that you’re mine. Mine and no one else’s.”

“I swear it.” Ubbe said it without hesitation. They’d performed this little ritual before, since their first night together, but this time it felt different, like something more.

“Until your dying day?” Solvi’s eyes burned into his own and Ubbe could not look away. 

“Body, mind, and soul.” 

She kissed him then, hard and deep, and Ubbe thought for a moment that her lips tasted like blood. 

———————————————————————————————————————————

The Great Army was a day’s hard march outside of York, according to their scouts, when Hvitserk found Ivar lounging by a cook fire and whittling a bit of wood down to a fine, sharp point. 

“Where is Ubbe?"

Ivar shrugged “Probably where he always is these days. Between the thighs of his _woman,”_ he sneered, drawing out the word in disdain. 

Hvitserk glanced up at the setting sun. “It is almost time to meet with the other Kings and Earls to plan the attack. He should be there. So should you.” 

“I do not need you to remind me, Hvitserk. I know precisely where I should be.” Ivar gestured at the forest of tents and simple shelters that made up the Great Army’s camp. “As for Ubbe, you know what his tent looks like. Go and find him.” 

“Come with me. He will not listen to me alone,” Hvitserk said. 

“He is not a child. I am not his _father_.” 

Hvitserk frowned. “No, but he is a son of Ragnar, as am I, and _as are you._ He has responsibilities to our people. That _woman_ has just made him forget about them.” 

“Now you sound like mother,” Ivar snorted, then rolled away when Hvitserk aimed a kick at his belly. His older brother followed him and seized the front of his armor.

“You’re coming with me Ivar. Now let’s go.” 

Ivar scowled. “Fine.” He angrily threw the stick he’d been sharpening into the fire, sending a fresh cloud of sparks into the swiftly-darkening sky. 

———————————————————————————————————————————

It took less than an hour and a few questions for Hvitserk and Ivar to track down Ubbe’s tent, set on the very edge of the camp amid the forest’s twisting old trees. As the brothers drew closer, each of them could hear loud groans coming from within. 

“See?” Ivar said, not bothering trying to hide his smirk. “Right where I told you he would be.” 

“Shut up,” Hvitserk muttered, then shouted at the closed front of the tent before him. “Ubbe! Come out! You’re needed in council!” 

There was no response from inside. If anything, Ubbe’s moans only grew louder. 

“Come out Ubbe, we know you’re in there!” Ivar said, rolling his eyes. “Leave your bitch behind and come out so we can get this over with!” 

The tent went silent. Ivar met Hvitserk’s eyes and smiled. “You’re welcome.” 

Before Hvitserk could respond, cries rang out again through the darkening forest. But this time they were the cries of a man in pain, moans of agony, like Ubbe had been grievously wounded. Like he was dying. The brothers took one look at each other before Hvitserk tore open the front of the tent. 

Inside Ubbe lay on a pile of blankets and there was a monster on top of him. 

It mostly resembled a naked human woman, the color of charcoal. Her skin was rough and scaly, covered all over with thin fissures that glowed with a dim orange light, as though she burned from within. There was a serpentine tail coming from the base of her spine, her feet and hands ended in talons like those of a falcon, and she was bent over Ubbe’s tense form with needle-sharp teeth sunk deep into the flesh of his chest. It appeared as though she were drinking deeply from him even as she ground herself up and down on his cock. 

Seeing the brothers burst in, the monster sat up and licked Ubbe’s blood from her lips with a delighted groan. 

“Mmmm….all three of the sons of Ragnar here together.” She said, spotting Ivar behind Hvitserk at the entrance to the tent.“ _Perfect_.” 

It was Solvi’s voice coming from the monster’s throat, her eyes that burned like coals in the dim light inside the tent. Hvitserk drew his sword and threw himself forward. 

“Get off him!” 

The monster quickly stood, leaving Ubbe lying on the ground. Hvitserk swung high, aiming to take her head off, but as the blade whistled through the air towards her neck, the monster reached up and casually caught it. Held fast in her grip, Hvitserk looked on in horror as before his eyes his blade was quickly covered in a thick layer of frost, spreading out from her blackened fingers, until his sword burned like ice within his hands. Then, with a casual turn of the wrist, the monster snapped Hvitserk’s sword like a twig. It shattered in her hand, the pieces falling to the ground like hailstones. The monster looked up at Hvitserk then and smiled, her mouth still smeared with his brother’s blood. 

He never saw her arm move. The hammer blow of her fist sent Hvitserk flying backward out of the tent to land on top of Ivar in a tangle of arms and legs. Quickly freeing themselves, the brothers drew their knives and the monster was upon them again. 

They got lucky. Ivar threw his knife and caught her low in the stomach, just above her hip. Hvitserk caught her where the muscles of her shoulder met the arch of her neck before she batted him away again. Angry, the monster stopped in mid-stride, her face wrinkling in irritation as she quickly yanked the knives out of her flesh. Her wounds sizzled and hissed as the steel withdrew, the burning orange light within her shining out through the wicked gashes. 

“ _Stupid boys,_ ” she snarled. The drops of her blood froze as they dripped off the edge of the blades, falling to the earth like flecks of snow. “You think you could kill me with _these_?!” She laughed like trees shrieking in a storm. “You don’t have the power to _bind me_ let alone kill me! Your very _gods_ don’t have the power! _All of you_ _are too weak!_ ” 

Hvitserk snarled and jumped to his feet again, just as a new attacker entered the fray. 

“Hvitserk! Down!” Ivar screamed. 

Hvitserk blindly threw himself forward as a blade whistled through the air. Another second and it would have split his skull open. 

“No,” Ubbe mumbled, clumsily raising his sword again. “ _Mine_.” 

“Ubbe, stop it!” Hvitserk shouted.

“It’s us you idiot!” Ivar added. 

Slowly, Ubbe turned to face them. Hvitserk felt a chill when he saw that, though his brother was standing upright and looking directing at them, his eyes were closed.

Like he was still asleep. 

“ _Mine_ ,” Ubbe repeated, shuffling towards them. 

“Ubbe! Ubbe wake up!” Hvitserk said, scrambling away when Ubbe swung his sword at him again. He tried to dodge around his older brother, to get past his sword, grab Ivar, and flee back to the safety of the camp, but Ubbe’s sleeping face tracked him like a hound scenting a hare. Ivar threw a stone at him, catching him high in the shoulder, but to his oldest brother it might have been no more than a biting fly. Hvitserk threw out a hand to stop him when he saw Ivar reaching for a bigger stone. 

“No! Wait! It’s still him! It’s still Ubbe!” 

“What, so we just let him _kill us?!_ ” 

“ _Mine_ ,” Ubbe mumbled, now shuffling towards Ivar. Sleepwalking or no, Ivar still wouldn’t be able to evade him for very long. 

“What’s your plan then brother?!” Ivar shouted, rolling away from Ubbe’s strike as the monster stood by and laughed. He seized Ubbe around his legs, twisting to pull his brother to the ground, then reeled back when Ubbe kicked him in the jaw. 

“ ** _Mine_** ,” Ubbe growled, angry now. He blindly pushed himself his feet and picked up his sword. Ivar crawled away, pushing himself backward as Ubbe loomed over him.

“Hvitserk!” screamed Ivar. “ _Hvitserk!_ ” 

Hvitserk’s tackle caught Ubbe like the charge of an angry bear. His sword flew from his hand as he crashed to the ground. Before he could recover, Hvitserk leapt to his feet and dashed to where Ivar lay. 

“Come on! _Come on!”_ he said, grabbing Ivar’s arms and hauling him up to his back. 

Hvitserk ran out of the clearing with Ivar on his back, the monster’s laughter and Ubbe’s angry shouts rising up behind them. 

———————————————————————————————————————————

“What the fuck was that thing!?”  

“I don’t know,” Hvitserk said, panting for breath as he lowered Ivar to the ground back in the safety of the camp. They’d made it back to Hvitserk’s tent without anyone spotting their mad dash. “But it’s got Ubbe….somehow….We’re fucked….Oh _we’re so fucked._ …”

Ivar snorted, remembering the scene of his brother in the tent. “I think Ubbe the’s one who’s fucked.” Hvitserk punched him in the shoulder. 

“ _Not helping!_ _”_

Ivar scowled and rubbed his shoulder. Night had well and truly fallen now, and the dark shadows surrounding the camp could hold any number of monsters. 

“Do you think they will come after us?” 

Hvitserk shook his head, but got up to pile more wood on his small fire just the same. “No. There’s too many of us here. Too many warriors. One sword might not have worked against that thing, but a hundred? A thousand?” He drew a deep breath, looking out at the dark trees surrounding the camp. “They won’t risk it. No….they’ll….they’ll stay where they are. For now.” 

“So we gather some warriors, kill the bitch, and get Ubbe back.” 

“And what if Ubbe gets hurt during the battle? You saw him before Ivar. He’s been bewitched. He was sleeping. That monster…that _thing_ had to be controlling him. He doesn’t know what he’s doing - probably thinks he’s just having a bad dream. No, we’re….we’re on our own for this one.”

Ivar said nothing for a long moment, just sat and watched the leaping flames of Hvitserk’s fire. 

“So….so what do we do?” Ivar suddenly sounded very unsure, a scared little boy looking to his older brother for the answers he needed. Hvitserk hadn’t heard him sound like that in a very long time. 

He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t know. Steel doesn’t hurt her. And if she was telling the truth, we can’t go to a seer or a volva. So….what else is there? Who else is left?” 

The brothers sat in silence for a long while. Ivar poured himself a cup of ale with a hand that would not stop shaking, drained it in one long swallow, then poured himself another before handing the pitcher to Hvitserk. The stars turned above and the camp slept on as the brothers stared into the flames of their now roaring fire. Hvitserk sat perfectly still, breathing heavily, only moving to take the occasional thirsty gulp, but Ivar seemed to be arguing himself as he drank. Hvitserk was on his third cup and Ivar nearly finished with his fourth when he suddenly reared back and threw his cup into the fire. The flames hissed and spat and sent sparks high above their heads as Ivar gave an angry shout.

“What?!” Hvitserk demanded. 

Ivar growled and shook his head. 

“Ivar?! What is it?” 

Ivar let out his breath in a long, frustrated sigh. “I have an idea.” 

———————————————————————————————————————————

The church was half a day’s hard ride from their camp. Ivar and Hvitserk had left just as the sun crept over the horizon that morning, thundering along Northumbria’s rough roads with the sound of the monster’s grating laughter still ringing in their ears. They caught sight of the gray stone building as midday began to slide towards afternoon, right where the Great Army’s scouts had said it would be. The village it served was small, little more than a cluster of huts on the road to York, and while they could spot a few people toiling away in the fields at the other end of the valley, the church looked to be mostly deserted. Hidden within the thick woods surrounding the tiny speck of a town, Ivar and Hvitserk watched as an old man, grey robed and bald, with knobby knees and protruding ears, exited the church arm in arm with a younger red-headed woman. Standing together in the road, the two of them exchanged what looked to be fond words, before the woman stretched up to give the older man a kiss on the cheek before walking away. The man in gray watched her go for a moment, hand lingering where the woman’s kiss had landed, before turning to go back inside.

“Is _that_ the one?” Hvitserk asked. 

“It must be.” 

Hvitserk pulled his horse closer to Ivar’s chariot, face incredulous. “Him Ivar?! _Him?! That’s_ who is going to kill the creature and save Ubbe?!” 

“I don’t see you having a better idea Hvitserk!” 

“When you said we needed a priest I thought you meant one of the ones like Aethelstan! A priest who could fight and swing a sword! Not some old bastard lusting after a girl young enough to be his daughter!” 

“Look around you Hvitserk!” Ivar hissed. “That _old bastard_ is the only priest between here and York! We take one from there and they either send men after us or let us have him and fortify the city before the Great Army can attack. Either way, the attack will beruined. No - it’s him or nothing.” 

Hvitserk scowled and turned back to glare at the gray stone building. “And what if he fails?”

“If he fails then he dies Hvitserk! And another dead _priest_ is of no great matter!” 

“You know that’s not what I meant.” 

Ivar looked at his brother, at the long sword strapped to his hip that he’d borrowed before leaving camp that morning. 

“If he fails, then we try steel again. The beast said that a Seer or volva would not be able to stop her, so if the Christ-God fails too……we’ll just have to risk it.” 

Hvitserk nodded once. “Alright. I’ll go get him.” 

———————————————————————————————————————————

In his dream, Ubbe was burning. 

No, he was being hunted by something that burned. Yes, that was it. 

Before his eyes was nothing but cinders and shadow. He kept hearing his brother’s voices, but he couldn’t see them. They were shouting his name, screaming at him, calling for his help, but he couldn’t make himself go to them. 

He must be ill - that had to be it. He was ill and dreaming. 

His thoughts felt thick and sluggish, his body weighted down like iron and riddled with strange aches. Even in his dreaming, feverish state he could feel a sharp pain in his shoulder, and another in the thick muscles of his chest. 

Now if only he could wake up.

Struggling awake, he cracked his eyes open to see midday light seeping through the roof of his tent.

“Ivar? Hvitserk?” he croaked, too weak to move his head. 

“Shhh…..” Solvi was there, smoothing a cool hand over his clammy forehead. “Hush now, my love. Go back to sleep. Everything will be alright.” 

Closing his eyes, Ubbe gave in to the exhaustion pulling him under, and dreamed again of his brothers. 

———————————————————————————————————————————

The priest fell to the ground in a heap and Ivar was on him like a snake. 

“Help! Please! Please! No!” he shouted, throwing his hands up, trying to shield himself from Ivar. 

Ivar seized him around the throat and squeezed. “ _Quiet,_ ” he hissed. The priest clutched at Ivar’s hand, fighting for air, until the younger man relaxed enough to allow him to draw breath. 

“ _Help!_ ” the priest shouted again. 

Ivar roared and shook the old man like a terrier with a rat, slamming his head against the ground below them before choking him again. “I said _be quiet,”_ Ivar whispered, dangerously soft. “One more word and I will cut out your tongue. Do you understand?” 

Clawing at the hand around his throat, the old priest met Ivar’s eyes. His earlier fear was giving away to stubborn indignation, but still he nodded. After a moment, Ivar released him and sat up as the old man gasped for breath. Ivar looked up at Hvitserk and smiled. 

“There, you see? He will not be a problem now.” 

“Who are you?” the priest demanded. “What do you want?!” He started to sit up, but Ivar shoved him back to sprawl in the dirt.

“Stay where you are.” 

“What do you want?” the priest tried again. 

“Your _silence_ ,” Ivar retorted. 

“ _Ivar_ ,” Hvitserk interrupted. Kneeling next to his brother, he grabbed the priest by the shoulder and took a turn at asking questions. 

“You are a Christian?” he asked. 

“Of course I am!”

The old man fumbled within the neck of his robes, pulling out a wooden cross strung on rough twine that he thrust in front of their faces as proof. 

“You are a priest too?” 

“I am! And God will judge you for what you have done today! He will—”

Hvitserk cut him off before the man’s temper could run away with him again. 

“What do you know of a monster made of cinders, with long claws and a tail like a serpent? One that looks like a woman, but is burning and icy cold at the same time? One that drinks blood and can bewitch the minds of men?” 

The old priest seemed to deflate as Hvitserk described the thing that had its hold on Ubbe.

“How do you…How do you know of such a thing?”

“So you know it?” Hvitserk pressed. 

The priest crossed himself and nodded. “It is a thing not of this world. A sucubus. A creature cast out of Heaven that feeds on men’s sinful lust. Those caught in their webs go mad with it, willingly let the demons drain their life away until they are left as nothing more than a withered husk.” 

“How do you kill it?” Hvitserk asked. 

“They cannot be killed.” 

“How do you bind them then!?” Hvitserk demanded. “Cast them out!? Drive them away!? What of the power of your Christ God that makes men like you wear _this_?!” he cried, seizing the priest’s wooden cross in his fist and pulling at it so hard its string broke. 

The man snatched at his crucifix, but Hvitserk shoved him away to sprawl on his back in the dirt. The priest stayed there, breathing heavily, while the two of them glared at each other in tense silence. Finally, the priest sat up slowly and broke it. 

“Who has it taken?” 

“Our brother.” 

“Then I am sorry. I will pray for his soul.” 

Hvitserk’s hand fell to his sword. “That’s not good enough.” 

“Perhaps the woman we saw you with could help us? The one with the red hair….” Ivar mused, idly toying with his knife. “Pretty young thing…..I’m sure she would be _pleasant company_ either way.” 

The priest glared at Ivar for a long moment. “God damn you,” he muttered, resigned. 

“There, see?!” Ivar grinned, spreading his hands in a magnanimous gesture. “I knew he would help us! Well done, priest!”

The old man snatched his crucifix back from Hvitserk and tied the broken string into a knot. “My name is Beocca,” he muttered as he slipped it back over his head. 

Ivar shrugged. “As you say, priest.”

———————————————————————————————————————————

It took hours longer than planned for them to make their way back to the Great Army’s camp. They’d spotted the light of the Army’s campfires just after the sun had set, but rather than cutting straight through the bustling city of tents and heading directly to Ubbe, Hvitserk had led them in a wide arc around the camp, skirting beyond the range of the sentries and taking care not to be seen. 

“It would be better if no one knew about our friend,” was the only explanation he would give. Now the three of them were gathered in the woods nearby Ubbe’s tent, all traces of daylight long since gone. 

“Is that it?” Father Beocca asked, squinting in the moonlight at the dimly lit tent. 

“Yes,” Hvitserk answered, “just there past that stand of oak trees.” 

The tent was dimly lit from within, and even from so far away the three of them could make out the writhing shadows thrown onto its thin woolen walls. 

“It looks like he’s home,” Ivar sneered. Hvitserk scowled and punched him on the shoulder. 

Rubbing his arm, Ivar turned to Father Beocca. “Well? Off you go, priest. Time to do your work.” 

Father Beocca scowled at the softly glowing tent and shook his head. “ _Insolent brat,_ ” he muttered under his breath. Turning to Ivar and Hvitserk he continued. “I will need your help with this. I will need you both to handle your brother while I deal with the demon. Once I begin, she will try to use him to stop me from banishing her back to Hell, so I need you to keep him away from me until I am finished.” 

“Very well,” Hvitserk agreed. 

“You’ll have your time,” said Ivar. 

Father Beocca nodded, and looked back to the tent in the distance. He pulled off his wooden crucifix and wrapped it around one fist, and then with his other he withdrew a gleaming silver knife from somewhere within his robes. 

“Where did you get _that_?” Hvitserk asked. 

Father Beocca hefted the knife, the moonlight catching its wicked edge. “Young man, we servants of the Lord must _also_ be ready to go into battle when called upon.” Holding the dagger before him, Father Beocca kissed its hilt. “This holy relic contains a piece of the True Cross and was blessed by Saint Lucius himself.” 

“You’re going to kill that thing with a _dagger_?” 

“Yes. With the help of our Lord Jesus Christ I will cast it back to Hell. Before it’s able to hurt anyone else.” 

Without another word, Father Beocca turned and walked away towards the tent. Gone was the knock-kneed old man they’d kidnapped just a handful of hours ago, now he strode forward like a warrior ready for battle, Hvitserk and Ivar following along in his wake. 

The tent was much the same as Ivar and Hvitserk had found it just the day before - the fire crackling merrily before it, the dim light from inside, and Ubbe’s moans and groans rising up through the night air. Father Beocca threw back the tent flap to find the monster astride a naked, haggard Ubbe and held out his cross. 

“Exorcizo te, omnis spiritus immunde, in nomine Dei, Patris omnipotentis!” he roared. An invisible force swept through the tent, threw the monster off of Ubbe, and hurled her completely through the back wall of the tent. Lying on his back on a pile of blankets, Ubbe stirred. 

“Solvi?” Ubbe muttered in his sleep, quickly growing agitated. “Solvi, where are you? Solvi! _Solvi_!” 

Outside the ruined tent, there was a loud, squealing _crack!_ like shattering ice, and a wave of icy cold slapped into the three of them. 

“Hold him!” Father Beocca shouted as Ubbe began to struggle to his feet. Hvitserk and Ivar threw themselves forward onto their struggling brother, while Father Beocca ran outside to face down the demon. 

He found her on the other side of the campfire, the light within the burning cracks of her skin pulsing in her anger, her needle-sharp teeth bared in a snarl. One side of her face was covered in a sheet of thick, milky white blood. 

“Ah, a _priest_ ,” the monster sneered at him, stalking towards him across the campfire, bare feet nestling into the hot coals. “This is going to be _fun_.” 

Father Beocca steeled himself for battle and raised his cross.

———————————————————————————————————————————

Ubbe was burning again. 

Only the dream was different this time. 

He was still exhausted, still felt weak and ill, and ached all over - worse than he had before. He could hear Hvitserk and Ivar’s voices again, only now instead of searching for them through fire and shadow, something was holding him down, keeping him back, as though he’d been trapped in thick, cold mud. 

“Hold him! _Hold him!_ ” he heard Ivar shout from far off just as something crashed into the side of his face. 

“Ivar?” he said in his dream. “Ivar, where is Solvi?” 

“Ubbe! Ubbe, stop it, damn you!” Hvitserk’s voice swam to him through the fog. “Wake up Ubbe! _Wake up!_ ” 

———————————————————————————————————————————

Pressed flat against the trunk of the tree behind him, Father Beocca was barely holding the monster at bay. He could hear muffled shouting coming from the tent behind him, but couldn’t spare a thought for Ivar and Hvitserk. In their struggle, she’d managed to rake him across his right shoulder with her claws, and now the hand that held his simple wooden crucifix shook in pain and dripped blood in the moonlight. He lifted his silver knife as she came at him. 

“In nomine Jesu Christi Filii ejus, Domini et Judicis nostri!” he cried, and again the monster was shoved back by an unseen hand. 

Shaking her head to clear the blood from her eyes, the monster leered at him. “How long do you think you can keep this up, _priest_? You think those little _boys_ will help you? You think you’re strong enough to defeat _me_?!” 

“Not I,” Father Beocca said simply, raising his cross once more. “Et in virtute Spiritus Sancti!” he roared, driving the monster back across the clearing, her claws digging deep furrows in the earth as she tried to keep herself steady. “It is the power of God that will defeat you, _witch,_ ” he spat, striding forward with his cross outstretched. 

“Ut descedas ab hoc plasmate Dei Ubbe, quod Dominus noster ad templum sanctum suum vocare dignatus est!” The demon cowered before him as he got closer and closer, and a small part of Beocca’s mind registered that his cross seemed to be growing warm in his hand. He was going to do this. He was going to cast this monster back down into Hell. 

When he was a spear length away, the demon dug her claws into the ground and sprang at him like a cat, knocking him flat on his back. Stunned, his silver knife flew from his fingers, but he managed to keep hold of his crucifix. As the monster’s jaws descended towards his throat, Father Beocca thrust it forward, pressing the smoothly carved wood into the skin of her neck. It sizzled and hissed beneath his hand, and the monster jerked away with a piercing scream. Snarling, she seized both of his flailing hands in her own and pinned them to the earth. 

“No more distractions,” she growled through bared teeth, and bent her jaws to him again. 

There was a rush of motion out of the corner of his eye before a booted foot caught the monster square in the jaw, snapping her head up and back and flipping her off of Beocca. Miraculously, Hvitserk had come to his rescue. Beocca scrambled to his feet as the young Northman followed after the demon, tackling her to the ground as she tried to rise. 

“Keep going! Priest! Keep going!” Hvitserk screamed as he struggled to pin the demon beneath him and avoid her gnashing teeth. Ivar appeared and threw himself over the monster’s flailing legs before turning to glare at Beocca. 

“What the fuck are you _doing?!_ ” he shouted over the monster’s bestial roars. “Use your Christ-magic and kill the bitch!” 

Beocca snatched his silver knife up from where it had fallen before and shoved his way through the tangle of flailing limbs to kneel next to the monster. Clutching his crucifix and sending a quick prayer skyward, he brought the silver blade down. 

And the monster caught it. 

She screamed as the silver dagger pierced through the palm of her hand, her fingers spasming around the hilt as Beocca pushed it downward, but still she fought on. 

“You see, _priest_?”the demon sneered as Beocca fought to bring the blade down on her neck. “You’re too _weak_. You cannot kill me!” Ignoring her ragged wound that sizzled and smoked, the monster tightened her grip around the dagger’s hilt, and slowly, inexorably pushed it back upward. 

Until an unfamiliar pair of hands joined his own and the dagger descended again. It was Ubbe, the Northman’s bewitched brother. He looked haggard and near death, but there was a fire in his sunken eyes as he helped Beocca bring the blade down. For the first time, now the Northmen and the priest could see a hint of fear on the monster’s face. 

“Ubbe! Ubbe, please!” the monster begged, and before their eyes she _changed_. Her charcoal-mottled skin smoothed and grew pale, her eyes lost their burning cinders and grew dark and afraid, and the blood that dripped from her hand turned a deep red in the moonlight. Now it was a beautiful naked woman that struggled beneath them. “Don’t let them hurt me!” she pleaded. “Please, you said you would protect me! You said you were _mine!_ ” 

Ubbe hesitated for just an instant, shaking his head like a hound shaking off water, before re-doubling his efforts. 

“Die, _witch,_ ” he spat.

The silver dagger bit deep into the skin of the monster’s neck and before their eyes she crumbled. In an instant, the four of them were left sprawled over a pile of cold charcoal which rapidly flaked to ash beneath their hands. They sat in silence for a moment, dumbly staring at each other and gasping for breath, before Ivar doubled over in laughter. 

“That’s it?” he said, looking around at the other men and wiping tears from his eyes with a sooty hand. “That’s _it?!_ ” Ivar threw his hands in the air and flopped onto his back, still laughing. 

Hvitserk leaned over to Ubbe and poked him in the shoulder. “Ubbe? Are you alright?”

The oldest Northman weakly batted his brother’s hand away, but nodded just the same. “Yes. I’m….I’m back.” 

“Good.” Hvitserk leaned back to lie next to the still-laughing Ivar, and Ubbe all but collapsed to sprawl next to them. 

It was silent in the little clearing for a long while, broken by Ivar’s occasional fits of giggles. Beocca thought it was quite peaceful, the three brothers lying side by side and looking up at the stars, just as they must have when they were little boys. He could almost forget that he was far from home and surrounded by heathens. 

Eventually it was Hvitserk that broke the silence. 

“Well brother…. I think you win,” he said, snorting with laughter. “The first of us to fuck a monster!” 

Ivar exploded with renewed laughter. “Are you sure your cock is still attached?” he said. 

“Shut—shut up! Both of you! I’ll cut your tongues out!” Ubbe protested weakly. 

But objections didn’t last long, and soon the three of them were flat on their backs again, breathless with relieved laughter. 

Even Father Beocca had to laugh. 


End file.
